


Guardian Beings

by mrv3000



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Post-Apocalypse, They look out for each other, but crowley does tend to jump to conclusions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-07 16:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19213444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrv3000/pseuds/mrv3000
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale can't help looking out for each other.⁂"They're calling you the new Batman.""They are not," Crowley breathed."Smashing through doors like an avenging, well, demon. Taking care of the underworld and all that. It sounded spectacularly dramatic. The winged crusader.""No no no, that is not athing."





	Guardian Beings

Wood exploded from the warehouse doors as the black Bentley careened in, the sound of tires squealing and _Hammer to Fall_ underscoring its arrival. The demon Crowley, who had many years of experience fine tuning his exit from this particular car, pulled off an actual swagger before even being fully on his feet. He sauntered up behind the man who was clearly tied to a chair.

"Ah, good thing I was in the area, eh? You do have a knack for getting yourself into these sorts of things, don't you? What was it this time? Need a certain kind of fish and chips that can only be found in the dodgiest part of town?" Crowley circled around, sporting a substantially smooth smirk.

"Oh _hell_." Crowley whipped off his dark glasses. "You're not... But you don't even look anything like Aziraphale!"

The man blinked and made noises against his gag.

"Yeah, I mean you've sort of got the hair." He waved at the man. "If you squint a lot. How can one claim to have sources if the so-called sources are rubbish? Do I need to circulate the photographs again? This new lot might be worse than Shadwell. Who knew that was even possible?"

Crowley sighed deeply as the man strained against his ties.

"In my defense I did try calling the angel first, and it's easy to see how not getting an answer would be validation of this information. Well!" Crowley clapped his hands together. "Enough of this. I'll just leave you to it."

The man gave a strangled moan.

"Oh, not the eyes. Those sad human eyes looking all pathetic." Crowley scowled and growled. "All right, I suppose since I'm already here. But first, you're not some sort of modern saint or something, are you? Because while I might be currently going through some ideological things, I'm not quite ready to go around helping saints."

Not-Aziraphale shook his head emphatically.

"Good. But you're not, like, a child murderer either, right? Never been a fan, even when up against it. I mean there are valid reasons, or were, but I seriously doubt someone like you would ever have a shred of an excuse."

Again his head shook a resounding 'no.'

"Okay then," Crowley said with another sigh. He clicked his fingers and the bindings fell away. "Just run and don't look back."

The man didn't need to be told twice. And while he raced out of the Bentley-shaped hole in the warehouse he called over his shoulder. "Bless you!"

"GAH!"

As the sun set on the following evening, Crowley slunk into the only bookshop he ever stepped foot in. Aziraphale was fussing around a current customer, his lips pinched and his hands twitching to remove the book in said customer's possession.  

Aziraphale quickly spotted Crowley and looked torn between saving his book or talking to the demon, so Crowley assisted in customer removal. And within moments the customer was headed down the street with only a vague sense of what he had been doing.

Aziraphale slid the bolt on the door and turned the sign to 'closed,' puffing out a sigh. "Thank Heaven that's over. I can't imagine how he was so resistant to being put off. I can usually manage."

"Ahem."

"Or thank _you_ , rather."

Crowley gave him a toothy grin.

"You're the regular savior, aren't you? I hear you've taken to rescuing bookies."

Crowley's grin slid right off. "How did you even...? That was a misunderstanding."

"They're calling you the new Batman."

" _They are_ _not,_ " Crowley breathed.

"Smashing through doors like an avenging, well, demon. Taking care of the underworld and all that. It sounded spectacularly dramatic. The winged crusader."

"No no no, that is not a _thing_."

"I don't know. Demon by day," Aziraphale said waving a finger in the air, "fighter for justice at night!"

"First, it was half ten in the morning. Second, that's just really stupid."

Aziraphale chuckled. "Ah, but I know what might cheer you up. I've just acquired a bottle of one of your favorites. Go on in while I put this book away. Be with you in a tick."

Aziraphale shuffled off and Crowley took a turn around the store. Things seemed more upended than usual, with books in places he knew didn't belong.

"Doing some rearranging?" Crowley yelled towards the direction Aziraphale had gone.

Aziraphale called back. "Doing inventory."

Crowley's eyes caught a half-open drawer in the large desk and he peered inside. Instead of a printed book, it contained what looked like a journal. He fanned through the pages and instantly recognized Aziraphale's writing.

Crowley's interest was piqued given that it wasn't every day you found writings straight from the inner thoughts of a particular angel. He read the first entry, which had a very familiar narrative. The second entry was familiar as well. And the one after that. And after that. He slowly paged through the book in growing disbelief.

"It seemed like a fitting time to take stock," Aziraphale said as he came back into view. "Here we are, bottle of Jadot Le Montrachet--"

"What the hell is this?" Crowley held up the journal. "You've got...it's about me!"

Aziraphale's eyes widened and he quickly put down the wine. "You aren't meant to see that. Give it here."

"Why? Just why? These are all the times I _helped_ you! Details of our little arrangement. I did all those nasty good deeds as favors for _you_!" Crowley jabbed the journal at Aziraphale. "Just what are you playing at? Wait, no." And faster than a snake, betrayal and doubt took their hold. "Is this _blackmail_ , angel?"

Aziraphale lunged for the book and flailed as Crowley yanked it out of reach. "Of course not! It's...well, it's insurance."

"Oh, _insurance_ , is it? After all these years, keeping dirt on me for when I piss you off too much!" Crowley paced a circle around Aziraphale.

"You're getting the complete wrong end of things!"

"That'd be an extra feather, wouldn't it? Getting a demon banished or worse! Look real good upstairs. A way to get back in, even!"

"I demand you be quiet and listen to me!"

"Oh, you _demand_ , do you? Just what else are you going to _demand_ with all this blackmail, hmm?"

"CROWLEY, SHUT UP."

If one were fanciful they might have seen tiny sparks dancing along Aziraphale's hair. As it was, Crowley _was_ a bit fanciful. He reared back, ceasing his circling.

"Now just stop talking and _listen_. And...and sit down. All this moving is making me dizzy."

Crowley raised an eyebrow but flopped down into one of the overstuffed chairs. He gestured outward as if to very much say 'get on with it, you great prat.'

"As I said, and you would have _heard_ but you were having too much fun going on a little rant for which I should be somewhat offended, this isn't blackmail. It was meant to be, well, a long term plan. As you know, Heaven will ultimately prevail."

Crowley snorted.

Aziraphale frowned and pressed on. "I suppose that's not exactly...I mean it might not... It's all sort of confusing right now. But in the event Heaven prevails, I can't imagine things will wind up too nicely for all the demons."

"Kaboom!" Crowley pantomimed a bomb exploding. "What?" he asked at the look Aziraphale gave him. "'Kaboom' isn't technically _talking_ , it's just making a loud noise."

Aziraphale gave a little stomp of his foot that was in every way ethereal and in no way petulant.

Crowley waved at him. "Right, go on."

"So when that happens I can just show this to the higher ups and you can get a bit of a reprieve. I don't think we could hope for a complete exoneration, but some kind of house arrest isn't unreasonable. Not after everything you've done."

Crowley startled into absolute stillness.

"Obviously I would volunteer as your guard," Aziraphale said with a fidget of his hands. "I doubt anyone else would want the job, you see. And I would try very hard to make it so you wouldn't get too bored. I imagine boredom is part of the whole punishment, but with both our heads together it might not be too bad."

Crowley simply stared.

Aziraphale brightened slightly. "Some games, perhaps!  Or maybe some sort of arts and crafts projects? You could make statues and behead them? Maybe we could learn to cook? I'm fairly certain you'd be rubbish at it, but I might amount to something. I could get some plants! Some plants you could look after? Or discipline? Crowley, why aren't you saying anything?"

Crowley blinked a few times before replying. "You planned on keeping me after the apocalypse."

"Well, technically I wouldn't be doing the keeping since I'm not the one who doles out the punishments, but I'd be there, naturally."

"Naturally," Crowley echoed faintly.

"Oh! And I know you don't read books, but you might give it a go since some stories are frightfully entertaining. You could try."

"House arrest."

"Yes."

"For _me_. _Me_. As in _me_."

"Yes."

"You have to know it never would have worked. They never would have gone for it," Crowley said carefully.

"I know no such thing," Aziraphale quickly insisted. "They could have been reasonable about it. They can be sometimes. Yes, like with the whole Plague nonsense, they were fairly good about getting that sorted. Eventually. See?"

"Aziraphale--"

"So that's what that is. It's a plan and not blackmail so you have no reason to be upset."

Crowley stared up at the ceiling.

"Yes, that's exactly what that is and that's why I'm keeping it no matter how odd things are right now. The plan might not be great or ineffable...but it's mine."

Crowley's lips quirked. "All right, angel," he said quietly.

"So everything's fine, then? We're, as they say, good?"

Crowley lowered his gaze to find Aziraphale's eyes. "We're, as they say, tickety-boo."

Aziraphale grinned broadly. "Splendid!" He quickly grabbed the journal from Crowley and bustled over to the desk. He placed the book in a drawer and locked it, putting the key in his breast pocket and then giving it a pat.

Crowley smiled at the gesture, feeling more pleasantly fuzzy than alcohol could ever make him. "Aziraphale, I think you need a good meal. Forget the wine. Fancy some dinner? My treat."

"Did you actually say 'forget the wine?' And, hold on, _dinner_?"

"Yeah, dinner. You know, food generally eaten in the evening?"

'I know what dinner is. It's just that in all our years we've never had it. Together, I mean. There have been lunches and tea and cake and on that one occasion an accidental brunch, but never dinner."

"Really? Well, seems we're overdue. Unless you're opposed, that is?"

Aziraphale fidgeted only momentarily before stating resolutely, "No. Giving it some thought, I'm not opposed."

"About time for an upgrade, wouldn't you say, angel?"

"I _would_ say."

And with that the angel and demon strolled out into the night.


End file.
